


Dream a little dream of me

by Vashti



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Gen, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-11
Updated: 2009-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:54:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27874905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vashti/pseuds/Vashti
Summary: Light has a nightmare about his future. Oneshot.
Kudos: 1





	Dream a little dream of me

In his dream, Light is a ghost, drifting from one place to the next, free as the wind. He feels calm, rested, at peace: it's all over, done with, but for some reason he doesn't mind. Perhaps it's because emotions and desires are a trick of the body.

He's in a corridor, but there are no doors: not unless the one at the far end, the one he's heading towards, counts. It's huge, made of metal, solid, like the door of a walk-in safe. There are no windows in it, no way to see what's inside. Unless you ghost through the door, which is what Light does.

The room is small. The walls are whitewashed: the floor is concrete. There is, again, no window. There is a steel toilet in one corner, and a bed in the opposite one: it's a cell. And in the third corner which has something in it, there's a chair: plastic, like a school chair, nothing fancy.

And in the chair, there is a man. Light drifts closer.

The chair is turned to face the corner, on the diagonal, so most of the room is behind him - but it's not as if it makes any difference, because the man in the chair is wearing a helmet: huge black shades across his eyes, blinding him. He's leaning down into his lap, because his wrists are shackled behind him. His ankles are shackled, too, so he can't leave the chair: there's a foot pedal nearby, though - presumably for him to call for assistance?

Horrified, Light takes in what he's seeing: the man is - not as thin as Light; randomly, as if through mist, he remembers Ryuuzaki saying, _"If you use your head, you can eat sweets without gaining weight"_. He's wearing an orange jumpsuit. Sometimes he mumbles to himself, incoherently, or giggles, high-pitched, gurgling, as if he's drowning inside. And the hair, too long, poking out beneath the helmet, is streaked with grey, but there's still enough of his own pale brown there for Light to recognise himself. He opens his mouth to speak - _Light?_ \- and reaches out one hand to drift through the other man's shoulder.

And as his disembodied hand touches the man in the chair, he feels a pulling, as if he's being drawn into a whirlpool - but he's a ghost, and can't grab onto anything to resist it. He screams his denial, mad with terror, but there's no sound - only the plummeting, falling feeling that drops through his gut, as if the floor is tumbling away beneath his floating feet in broken, crashing chunks of concrete.

Then it's over, and it's dark. He opens his eyes, but sees only black: he tries to move his wrists, his ankles, but they're shackled. He opens his mouth to call for help, but what comes out is the deranged, bubbling cackle of the man in the chair.

That's when he wakes up, rigid with fear, eyes wide and staring, sweating.

It's an hour before he can get back to sleep.


End file.
